Sleep has not visited me the whole night,Will the dawn ever come?O my companion,Once I awoke with a start from a dream.Now the remembrance from that visionNever fades.My life is ebbing as I choke and sigh,When will the Lord of the Afflicted comeI have lost my senses and gone mad,But the Lord knows my secret.He who deals out life and deathnows the secret of Mira’s pain.

Sleep has not visited me the whole night,Will the dawn ever come?O my companion,Once I awoke with a start from a dream.Now the remembrance from that visionNever fades.My life is ebbing as I choke and sigh,When will the Lord of the Afflicted comeI have lost my senses and gone mad,But the Lord knows my secret.He who deals out life and deathnows the secret of Mira’s pain.

- Mirabai

Dear Sri Jewel,

Thank you for this post. I don't know what made you post this, thank you. It is like it has been posted just for me. This is the first post or prayer, that i read today.

I love Akka Mahadevi,Her approach and Her poems!! But i love Mirabai too. I love that Intense longing and love which i can see in those poems. I cannot deside what i love more,both of them have something very unique. And that something i find in every poet and poem i usually chose.

The holy water, I need it upon my eyes: it is you, dear, you – each form.

What mother would lose her infant – and we are that to God,never lost from His gaze are we? Every cry of the heartis attended by light’s own arms.

You cannot wander anywhere that will not aid you.

Anything you can touch – God brought it intothe classroom of your mind.

Differences exist, but not in the city of love.

Thus my vows and yours, I know they are the same.

I have just peeled the skin from the potatoand you are still contemplating its worth,sweetheart; indeed there are wonderful nutrients in all,for God made everything.

You joined our community at birth.

With your Father being who He is, what do theworld’s scales know of your precious value.

The priest and the prostitute – they weigh the same before the Son’simmaculate being,but who can bear that truth and freedom,so a wise man adulterated thescriptures;every wise man knows this.

My soul’s face has revealed its beauty to me;why was it shy so long, didn’t it know how this made me sufferand weep?

A different game He plays with His close ones.

God tells us truths you would not believe,for most everyone needs to limit His compassion; concepts ofright and wrong preserve the golden seeduntil one of God’s friends comes along and tends your bodylike a divine bride.

The Holy sent out a surveyor to find the limits of its compassionand being.

Jewell,Wonderful poem of Rabbia.Thanks very much.Here is a poem on Rabbia:

RABBIA

Rabbia, sick upon her bed, By two saints was visited — Holy Malik, Hassan wise — Men of mark in Moslem eyes. Hassan said, "Whose prayer is pure Will God's chastisements endure." Malik, from a deeper sense Uttered his experience: "He who loves his master's choice Will in chastisement rejoice." Rabbia saw some selfish will In their maxims lingering still, And replied "O men of grace, He who sees his Master's face, Will not in his prayers recall That he is chastised at all !" — Persian Poem

TRUE love has vanished from every heart;What has befallen all lovers fair?When did the bonds of friendship part?–What has befallen the friends that were?Ah, why are the feet of Khizr lingering?–The waters of life are no longer clear,The purple rose has turned pale with fear,And what has befallen the wind of Spring?

None now sayeth: “A love was mine,Loyal and wise, to dispel my care.”None remembers love’s right divine;What has befallen all lovers fair?In the midst of the field, to the players’ feet,The ball of God’s favour and mercy came,But none has leapt forth to renew the game–What has befallen the horsemen fleet?

Roses have bloomed, yet no bird rejoiced,No vibrating throat has rung with the tale;What can have silenced the hundred-voiced?What has befallen the nightingale?Heaven’s music is hushed, and the planets rollIn silence; has Zohra broken her lute?There is none to press out the vine’s ripe fruit,And what has befallen the foaming bowl?

A city where kings are but lovers crowned,A land from the dust of which friendship springs–Who has laid waste that enchanted ground?What has befallen the city of kings?Years have passed since a ruby was wonFrom the mine of manhood; they labour in vain,The fleet-footed wind and the quickening rain,And what has befallen the light of the sun?

Hafiz, the secret of God’s dread taskNo man knoweth, in youth or primeOr in wisest age; of whom would’st thou ask:What has befallen the wheels of Time?